I Wanted One Night—My Billionaire Ex Wanted Forever

Moonlight filters into the bedroom, washing everything in a soft silver glow.

Adrian dreams of Rosalie again.

For five years, dreams have been the only place she will stay with him.

Her waist-length blonde curls spill across his pillow, pale gold in the moonlight. The corners of her eyes are flushed pink, and her breathing is already ragged.

When Adrian leans in to kiss her, she turns her face away. She lasts all of two breaths before turning back on her own, wrapping her arms around his neck and slipping her fingers into his damp black hair.

Adrian pauses. “I thought you didn’t want me kissing you.”

Rosalie keeps her eyes closed and curls closer against him.

She has always been like this—fearless when she argues, quick to hide in his arms when he pushes too far.

Adrian laughs under his breath and kisses her again.

Her hand tightens on his shoulder. The ring on her finger brushes his neck, cool against his heated skin.

He knows what it is before he looks—her wedding ring, the one that matches his.

Rosalie designed the pair. After weeks of revisions, she showed him the sketch and pretended not to care what he thought.

There was never any chance he would say no. He wants everything she gives him.

Adrian kisses the ring, then follows the line of her fingers to the inside of her wrist.

The kisses tickle. Rosalie squirms and tries to pull away. “Adrian…”

“I’m here.” He doesn’t let go.

He means to take his time. Slow enough that morning never comes.

Then Rosalie opens her green eyes, all hazy innocence. Before he can call her bluff, she lifts her head and kisses his throat.

His next breath comes rougher. “Rosie.”

She ignores the warning and slides her arms around him again.

Adrian lifts her by the waist. She gasps, buries her face against his neck, then bites his shoulder in protest.

He lets her. Worse, he laughs.

“You’re the one who started this. Why are you biting me?”

“You—”

He kisses the rest of her answer away.

Soon, her fingers are knotted in the sheets, and the room is filled with their uneven breathing.

Eventually, Rosalie presses a hand to his chest. “Adrian… slow down.”

He does. His eyes stay on her face. “Better?”

She closes her eyes and refuses to answer.

Adrian kisses her warm earlobe. “A little longer. You’re always the first one worn out. We need to work on your stamina.”

Rosalie covers his mouth with her hand.

He laughs against her palm, takes her hand down, and threads his fingers through hers. Their matching rings touch with a quiet click.

Much later, Rosalie lies across his chest. Adrian holds her, memorizing her weight and the warmth of her breath at his neck.

“Rosie.”

“Mm?”

“Are you going to leave me again?”

She goes still.

Adrian waits, his heart sinking. “Rosalie?”

He tightens his arms, but they close around nothing.

She is gone. The sheets are still tangled where she lay, but even her warmth is fading.

Then his eyes fly open.

Dawn has barely reached the bedroom. He stares at the empty side of the bed, sweat in his hair, desire from the dream already twisting into anger.

“Fuck.”

Five years. Five years of the same damn dream.

Adrian throws back the covers and crosses the cold floor barefoot. The bathroom door slams behind him.

The shower comes on. After a while, a low, restrained breath breaks through the rush of water.

Half an hour later, Adrian steps out with a black towel low on his hips. Water runs down his jaw and chest. The ache is gone, leaving him in a fouler mood.

He opens the navy velvet box kept at the back of his dressing-room cabinet. A man’s wedding band rests inside.

The gossip pages insist the CEO of Mercer Biotech has a secret wife. Adrian never corrects them.

The wedding never happened, but he has worn the ring for five years anyway.

He runs his thumb over the letters engraved inside.

R.H.

Rosalie Hayes.

Adrian slides the ring onto his finger.

At 8:40 a.m., his car pulls into the underground garage at Mercer Biotech.

Evan Brooks is waiting beside the private elevator. “Good morning, Mr. Mercer.”

Adrian steps inside, and Evan follows with his tablet. “The Phase 3 review for JS-01 is at nine thirty. Northstar will be here at eleven to finalize production plans, and Regulatory Affairs will update you on the FDA filing at three.”

Adrian adjusts one cuff. “Tonight?”

“The leukemia research benefit starts at seven. You’re presenting the Mercer Foundation’s donation.” Evan glances at his screen. “TÉRA is providing the centerpiece for the auction. They’ve requested a photograph of you alone with the designer, including a posed handshake.”

“Decline it.”

Evan expects nothing else.

For five years, Adrian has refused solo photographs with women and kept his wedding ring visible at every public appearance.

The press calls him devoted, eccentric, and controlled by a wife no one has ever seen.

Evan knows the truth. Adrian is still waiting for the woman he was supposed to marry.

“I’ll take care of it.”

The elevator reaches the executive floor. Adrian walks into his office while Evan opens a new email from TÉRA.

The designer’s profile is brief.

Mira, twenty-seven. Trained in jewelry design in the United States and Paris. Winner of the Aurora International High Jewelry Award. No legal name. No photograph.

The final attachment shows the piece she created for tonight’s auction.

A rose, caught halfway into bloom.

Evan studies it. Her age, Paris, the hidden identity—something about the combination nags at him.

He looks toward Adrian’s closed door.

Then his tablet chimes. Adrian has a full morning ahead of him.

Evan closes the attachment.

It can wait.